


bloom

by bubbleteabunny



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22275493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubbleteabunny/pseuds/bubbleteabunny
Summary: If your heart is a flower, his smile is the sun in spring, and you very much love springtime blooms. You wonder if he does too.
Relationships: Claude von Riegan/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 185





	bloom

Being set atop a hill, Garreg Mach Monastery is afforded beautiful views of the countryside every single morning. Rolling hills are silhouetted against a dark sky giving way to reds and oranges as the sun rises. Mist is low on the ground, a haze in the air like you’re dreaming. Dewdrops rest on blades of grass and birds hidden in branches sing to each other, and maybe they’re sharing poems about the wind catching under their wings. The weather is crisp and cool, cool enough to see one’s breath with every exhale, and it might be best to enjoy the cold and early hours from indoors, where it is warm and cozy with the flagstone floors, wooden rafters, and blazing fireplaces.

The romanticized musings of winter mornings are fully lost on the Golden Deer house today, as they have been the last couple of weeks. Instead, the air is harsh and bitter, biting at their cheeks left unprotected. They stand shivering in the field, simultaneously yearning for the coziness of the monastery and for Professor Byleth to finish giving out directions so that they might finally start moving around and hopefully get some warmth back in their systems.

Professor Byleth’s classes focus primarily on practicals, and Golden Deer had thus far been perfectly fine with that. The lecture halls could quickly grow suffocating, and the general quiet within them, save for a professor’s voice, made it all too simple to doze off. But when training takes them outdoors is when the blood truly gets flowing, for they’re afforded the chance to move around and spar, pushing each other to their limits. The golden deer love their homeroom professor dearly, of course, but with lowered temperatures comes lowered motivation to be out in the field first thing in the morning, and despite this being the start of the third week since winter began, they highly doubt they will ever grow used to the chill.

Claude thinks he might fall asleep right where he’s standing. Another issue with morning practicals this time of year is that the sun rises later. As someone whose internal clock tends to sync with the movement of the sun through the sky, he isn’t quite up to his typical level of jokes and antics until the day has fully broken.

His eyes close. The professor is addressing Leonie’s question, so he takes those several seconds to rest them as if that might be enough to get energized. His fingers feel frozen around the grip of his bow and he’s certain they’re stuck. He’ll need to unthaw in front of a fireplace when this is over. _A nice, warm fire sure sounds wonderful right now…_

Grass sifts beneath the boots of someone coming closer and Claude’s eyes slide back open. He glances to his left and grins tiredly.

“Hey, [Name],” he starts quietly, for you’re not standing very far. “Do you have any spells that might wake me up? Or at least feel warmer?”

You smile, sympathetic and similarly fatigued, and shake your head. “Unfortunately not, Claude.” Your cheeks and nose are red, and you punctuate your statement with a sniffle.

“I’m turning into an ice block out here,” Claude continues. The two of you are in the back, so there’s no issue of the professor overhearing. “Almost makes me wish for Hanneman’s history lectures instead.”

At this, you chuckle. For Claude, that’s no small claim. He’s fallen asleep in said lectures before, and you’ve had to wake him up before Hanneman noticed and woke him up himself. But you find you’d have to agree. While you mind them less, and can stay awake the whole way through, you do prefer the fresh air. Just… perhaps not when the cold is making your fingers numb even in your gloves.

After Professor Byleth has fielded everyone’s queries, she sets you all loose to begin your training. Everyone shares the same sentiment as they split off, but it’s Hilda who gives voice to the mutual relief inherent within them all at finally moving: _I thought I was going to freeze in place if I was standing still any longer!_

Once class is done, the sun has fully emerged from its hiding place and the chill is less severe. Claude isn’t bothered by it anymore, however, and he doubts his classmates are either. The professor’s practicals aren’t easy, and they’ve only gotten more difficult as the moons pass and everyone is well past the point of beginner. With blood pumping and heartbeats racing, there was no room left to feel cold.

The other two houses emerge from their classrooms and the corridors are filled with students. Professor Byleth has to raise her voice to be heard above the hustle and bustle, parting with a commendation for another job well done today. She separates herself from the crowds to return to her classroom, and Lysithea and Lorenz follow after her to ask a question. As for the rest of the house, you join the sea of people. There was some time yet until the next set of lectures, and in your case, you’re keen to freshen up.

Mail comes in at the beginning of the week. You don’t expect many letters. You expect only one, in fact. Every Monday, like clockwork, you collect the envelope with the familiar wax seal keeping it closed. What’s different about the letter today is that it’s accompanied by a small burlap pouched tied up with twine. It confuses you to receive, and you’re wondering what it could be, but despite the distraction, you say your thanks to the courier before taking your leave.

You settle down at a table in the reception hall to review your mail. Carefully you peel open the envelope, breaking the seal, and pull out the letter folded parchment. The correspondence opens with your name, written immaculately in your brother’s handwriting, and the noise around you seems to melt away and you’re not in the monastery but rather, somewhere closer to home, somewhere like home.

You and Ludwig exchange letters regularly, as you made him promise to do before you’d left to begin your schooling at the officers academy. You’d always been close, and he shares with you the goings-on of being head of the guard. He’s privy to many of the discussions your father has with other houses, as is necessary if he’s to take over one day, but he still laments the boringness of it all, sparing you of no detail regarding how heavy his eyelids felt, how the monotone voice of some such lord or other seemed to go on and on and on… (You can practically hear his exasperation and you giggle. Poor Ludwig.)

With the remark that he hopes he hasn’t just made you want to fall asleep on the spot too, he changes the subject and turns the conversation on you. This is where you finally get an answer about what’s in the small bag, now sitting on the table: they’re peony seeds. Your eyes light up upon reading this.

 _I bought them at the market the other day_ , Ludwig writes. _I know you’ve been asking me to send some._ Peonies are native to the area where your home city is located, and they grow in abundance there. The greenhouse at the monastery is lacking in the pink flower, and you recently requested that Ludwig sends you seeds if he was able so you could cultivate your own. You’d gone from seeing them daily to not at all, and you’d come to miss them. A ghost of a smile rests on your lips as you pick up the bag, clutching it in your hand and already formulating the heartfelt thanks you will send in your letter back.

There’s a break in Ludwig’s letter then, a new line, a new paragraph, as if a new thought has just occurred to him.

_You know what these symbolize, don’t you? Maybe when they grow, you can give them to the one you love most._

Ludwig closes with well wishes and reminders to study hard even though it bears no reminding. You’re studious, more so than he during his time attending the academy. He never could sit with his nose in a book for long. But it’s his obligation as your older brother, he argues, that he tell you to work hard— _I want to see you succeed! So don’t let me down, okay?_

You remain sitting after you finish reading, processing all the information. Getting letters from Ludwig is a great way to start your week, and nearly makes up for the fact that your morning practicals since the start of winter are a harsh wake up call after lazy and relaxing weekends. You’re always eager to reply, and you plan to write your response tonight and have it sent out first thing tomorrow morning. Then begins the waiting game again.

Your eyes slide back up the piece of parchment, paragraph by paragraph, reviewing every topic covered. Upon reaching the topic about the present he sent, your head tilts thoughtfully. Burlap and twine scratch at the soft skin of your palm. You look down at it, like you can see the seeds inside, and your cheeks are feeling warm. _The one I love most…_

“There you are!”

Being so deep in thought, you don’t notice someone approaching, and you jump at the loud interruption, nearly dropping the letter and the pouch of seeds in your surprise. Claude smiles apologetically and rubs the back of his neck. “Whoa! Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.”

“It’s fine,” you brush it off with a dismissive wave and a smile. But your face is still burning, your mind lingering on the subject of peonies and true loves. You clear your throat and try to will away the heat, though it’s to no avail, and you know better than to assume Claude, ever so curious Claude, would brush over the reddening of your cheeks which the cold isn’t responsible for. 

“What’s got you blushing so much this morning?”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing.” Before he can try to goad you to give more information (because you know he wants to), you tuck Ludwig’s letter back in the envelope and stand up. “You ready to go to class?”

Claude’s grin is mischievous but he doesn’t pry anymore as he nods instead, and the two of you exit the reception hall. Dodging the question won’t work with him. He’ll find a roundabout way to come back to the topic after considering what the answer could possibly be, offering up his guesses for you to confirm or deny. But for once you doubt he’ll get this one, and you don’t know that you have the confidence to admit to him that he’s the root cause.

You walk slightly behind and look up at him briefly, staring at the back of his head. You imagine the scenario and can see him now, chuckling as he accepts the bouquet of peonies and pondering aloud if it isn’t he who’s supposed to be giving the flowers. You’ll laugh at his small quip because he always makes you laugh with little asides like that, then you’ll ask if he knows what they mean. And if he doesn’t, you’ll sheepishly tell him, your heart alight with the hope that maybe, hopefully, your affections are reciprocated.

The _what-if_ has your cheeks bursting in warmth once more and you hastily look down at the ground, focusing hard on the motion of your boots as you take each step. The blush needs to be gone by the time you get to the lecture hall, or else other people will ask about it too and you can’t have that!

Once you feel the dusting of pink has gone from your face, you quickly spare one more glance up at Claude. This time he seems to notice and glances over his shoulder, flashing you a quick smile. You smile back instinctually, though it fades once he turns his attention back in front of him.

Or maybe it’s too much to hope for, that your relationship could extend beyond anything more than friends. Doubts nag at the back of your mind that he won’t feel the same, and that your confession will have upset the current balance. You fear the prospect of it doing the total opposite and pushing Claude away. Why risk ruining a good thing?

———

Professor Hanneman’s most recent writing assignment practically makes the library a second home for you and Claude. You stay there for hours, poring over old tomes for material to reference in your essay. You see your fellow classmates there occasionally and wave hello, but no one seems to be in there are often as you both. It leads to Claude wondering half-seriously if there’s some lecture you could’ve somehow missed that had pertinent information for this paper. You can only shrug helplessly.

“Maybe I’ll ask Marianne if I can take a look at her notes…” you murmur, flipping through your own. You speak quietly because of the environment, but as far as anyone on the outside is concerned, you may also be doing it because you’re speaking to yourself. Claude’s resting his head on his propped up hand, his eyes having slid shut a few minutes ago.

But you know better, and you smile slightly as you turn to look at him. He hasn’t knocked out quite yet, and at your comment, his eyes open. He sighs, exhaustion creeping up on him, and also glances over what he has written so far.

“Yeah, I could probably go ask Ignatz. He takes good notes.” Claude sits up and yawns, which prompts you to check the time.

The clock on the far wall denotes it’s early afternoon, but being cooped up in the library, the last couple of hours have crawled along and felt like much longer. With a sigh, you gather up your notes, careful not to accidentally grab any of Claude’s. “As much fun as we’re having”—Claude’s laugh earns him a shush from the nearby monk organizing the shelves—“I need to get going. I’m meeting Professor Manuela at the greenhouse.”

Given that Professor Manuela specializes in healing magic, you often spend your free periods with her to better hone your skills. One of the places in which you spend those free periods with her is the greenhouse, reviewing the various herbs to have on hand in case anyone is injured. _Spells are good_ , she’s advised you, _but it doesn’t hurt to have herbs on hand as well to aid the healing process._

“I’ll head out too then,” Claude replies, voice extra quiet so as not to be reprimanded by the monk again. “All this fun and no one to share it with? Not fun at all.”

You walk out of the library together with an agreement to meet up again tonight. The paper is due in a couple of days, and usually you don’t like to cut it so close, but Professor Hanneman had given it at an unideal time, caught up in multiple other assignments as you are. To add insult to injury, they had due dates close to each other, which only makes the mad scramble to finish everything even madder. The best you can do to cope is take solace in the fact your plight is not an exception. Your peers are experiencing much the same.

Your talks with Professor Manuela don’t end when she’s finished her small lesson for the day, reviewing the nuances of an anxiety-relieving herb kept at the greenhouse. Every so often there’s a short story about her days with the Mittelfrank Opera Company. You’ve heard her sing before, and you delight in imagining her up on the stage in Enbarr. _How amazing it must have been_ , you muse. You don’t think you could perform in front of thousands of people like that, but maybe in your dreams you could, at the very least, pretend.

Though what tends to be brought up, more so than the opera company and show business, are the professor’s most recent flings. The first instance she had shared with you the failed connection with a man she met at the bar, you’d blanched, unsure if this was even allowed. Weren’t the personal affairs of faculty not meant to be shared with the students? Your mouth opened, prepared to ask if you were really the correct person to share this with, but she’d kept going, and she was so distraught, that you couldn’t bring yourself to stop her.

Better to let the feelings out than in, is how you’d justified it. You refrained from cutting her short and listened patiently. If anything, you suppose you’re glad she thought you someone worthy to share these frustrations with. Even if you couldn’t exactly do anything about it or have any advice to give.

 _“_ Love lost then found then lost again,” Professor Manuela laments. The sky is turning orange and dinner would be served soon. If you were closer to the dining hall, you’d be able to pick up the delicious smell of tonight’s dishes wafting out through the open double doors.

“Or what I thought was love. Turns out he was just like the rest of them.” She laughs dryly.

“I’m sorry, professor,” you do your best to console.

Professor Manuela sighs. “Me too, [Name].”

Her words echo in your mind during dinner, where you’re only pulled from your thoughts by your friends pulling you into their conversation. But as you return to your dorm and sit in silence, they come back, and there’s nothing to keep you away from them here. _Love lost then found then lost again_. You repeat it over and over, and you can’t shake the notion that it sounds so… dismal. It must be tiresome to go through disappoint like that again and again. You don’t know that you’d be able to go through it more than once. The heartbreak the first time might be too much. And besides, who’s to say you could find it again? Or _would_?

This gives you pause, halting your motions of sorting through your notes where you sit at your desk. If someone were to ask who you love, you can only think of one person, and the possibility of losing him is too much to bear. So much so that it’s frightened you from trying to share your feelings in the first place. Will you even dare to entertain the possibility of someone else out there, that you could feel this way about? At present, such is beyond you. Not when you think of peonies and they make you think of Claude. They might always make you think of him, and how could you stand to lose someone like that? So maybe you _can_ carry on with the current state of things forever, never venturing past the point of friends. (Though perhaps it’s less about _can_ and more about _must_.)

There’s a knock on the door but you don’t need to ask who it is. Claude is standing on the other side with a smile, texts he’d borrowed form the library and various papers tucked under his arm. “Ready to hit the books again?”

You open the door wider to allow him in before closing it behind him. “Not one bit.”

Claude chuckles and sets his study materials down on your bed. “Yeah, me neither. But I think we could finish tonight if we really go for it.”

You plop down in your chair to review your notes and continue from where you left off earlier. There’s the shifting of paper and flipping of pages to your left so you assume Claude is doing the same, but then the noises quiet down. It’s suspicious, but not enough for you to check on him. Before the quiet stretches on long enough to finally merit your concern, he speaks up.

“A new project?”

You turn to him, wondering what he could mean, but he’s not looking at you. Instead, he’s looking at the pot sitting on your window sill.

“Oh, uh, yeah…” you respond. “I asked Ludwig to send me peony seeds. There’s none here, and I missed them.” You hadn’t planted all of them, since you needed to make sure the pot was small enough for the sill, and you have the rest stored away, along with Ludwig’s accompanying letter, in the top drawer of your desk.

“They remind you of home.” It’s a statement, not a question.

But Claude’s hit the nail right on the head, and you nod. “Exactly.” There’s silence for a few moments as you stare at the pot and the small sprouts jutting from the soil, the beginnings of pink peonies, then quietly you continue. “Admittedly, I do get homesick sometimes…”

The smile Claude graces you with then is sympathetic. “I’m glad you have those flowers, if only to ease up on some of that longing.”

Your thoughts have trailed to your small garden at home with the gazebo and small table for two. At Claude’s words, your eyes flicker to meet his. And you imagine him sitting there with you, among the peonies, and you would have him immortalized in oil paints, his smile that which makes flowers blossom and which keeps your heart warm so that in the very depths of your being, where the soul finds rest, is perpetual spring.

“Yeah.” Your reply is curt, and you do your best to ignore the tightness in your chest. Longing, yes, he’d gotten that right. But was it merely for home? Or was it for him too? “It helps well enough.”

The air had quickly felt as if it was closing in on you. To break past its uncomfortable hold, you change the subject, taking in a steady breath and picking up what you’ve written of your essay so far. “Well, let’s get started then! Maybe we can finish before midnight if we’re quick about it.”

Claude laughs and looks at the clock. “With how fast I’d have to write to make _that_ deadline, my hand might catch fire!”

———

Somehow, you make it. You all do: Golden Deer, Blue Lion, Black Eagle, the victory of each student no matter the house is one and the same. The point in the school year where exams and homework assignments are crammed in around the same three weeks is finally behind you. The atmosphere of the school in those weeks had been stressful, and had many late—sometimes even sleepless—nights packed with studying. On the Friday of the third week, at the end of the school day, a collective sigh of relief sweeps through the hallways like a welcomed breeze on a hot day.

Hilda’s making plans to go into town to celebrate, and she’s adamant you go with her.

“Come on, [Name], I don’t want to go by myself!” She’s practically hanging off your arm.

“I dunno, Hilda, I’m kind of tired.” You shrug, but the arm she’s hugging doesn’t move much due to her hold. “Isn’t there someone else who could go?”

“But I want _you_ there with me! It isn’t the same if it’s somebody else.”

You and Hilda get along well, and despite how long it’s been since you met, it still strikes the others as a surprise as much as it does you. While Hilda is outgoing and energetic, you’re generally calmer and more subdued. You’re happy to stay in, and as is the case today, to go back to your room and relax as a way to celebrate the passing of the stressful weeks composed of midterm tests and assignments. But you guess your opposing tendencies can be good for each other. You help rein in some of that energy, the gentle reminder for her to take a breather every now and then; and she encourages you to go out and take advantage of the sunshine, to go around exploring. And since last time you made plans, the two of you just stayed in your room chatting and gossiping…

“All right,” you concede, and halfway through it’s nearly drowned out by her squeal of elation. “But can we at least get changed out of our uniforms first?”

“Of course! I need to find something cute to wear. You too, okay?”

You laugh at her enthusiasm as you nod your assent. The request shouldn’t be difficult to fulfill, since she had assisted in redoing your wardrobe, which meant a majority of it was now Hilda-approved by default.

Once at the dormitory, you part when you reach Hilda’s room, which is closer to the entrance of the building. You’re still several doors down, and you spot a familiar figure coming towards you.

“I feel like I can _breathe_ again!” Claude declares, setting a hand over his heart to complement his exclamation.

“I’ll be catching up on a _lot_ of sleep this weekend,” you state. That would have begun right this instant, but, well, Hilda happened. “Though I’m sure I’m not the only one with that plan.”

Claude chuckles. “Far from it. But how about right now? You getting up to anything?”

“Hilda and I are heading into town. So shopping, I guess, is what I’ll be getting up to. What about you?”

“I have some books to return to the library, but after that, the rest of my day is free. I think catching up on sleep is gonna start a little early for me, and, to be honest, I feel like I’m more excited than I should be.”

You grin lopsidedly in amusement. “Hey, it’s sleep well deserved, right?”

You bid your goodbyes, Claude continuing down the hall and you retreating into your room. Rifling through your dresser, you opt for a white dress. The days have been growing warmer and the sun is pleasant to feel on your skin in the afternoons. You stand before the mirror and braid your hair to keep it out of your face, for there’s a small breeze today. When you’re finished, you momentarily remain where you are, studying your reflection and nodding in satisfaction.

Then your attention shifts to the left, in the direction of the window. You walk over and flip the latch so you can slide it up. Immediately cool air floats in, and you smile as you glance down at the pot on the sill. The peonies are slightly bigger now; leaves are forming, though it would be a while yet until the flowers bloomed.

While in town, you settle for following Hilda’s lead. She pulls you into basically every boutique along every street you walk on, the wares on display in the window piquing her interest enough to look in detail at the selection inside. So far, she’s bought two blouses and a pair of shoes, and she says she’s now on the lookout for new earrings, but she still gets sidetracked by all the boutiques, whether they carry jewelry or not.

You’re happy to browse but haven’t felt particularly compelled to purchase anything. Hilda picks out clothes and holds them up, aligning them with your figure as she imagines what you’d look like in them. _This is cute!_ she’d say. _You should get it!_ But you chuckle and respond simply with a _Maybe_ because with the number of suggestions she has given, if you had indeed bought every single one, you’d have enough to fill half your closet. While you’re open to the idea of expanding your wardrobe, you’re inclined to be picky else you shop till you quite literally drop. Hilda might be okay with that, but you… perhaps not so much.

By late afternoon, your stomachs are grumbling and you’re searching for snacks. Eating a big meal now made no sense because dinner would be served by the time you returned to the monastery. Hilda spots a cafe at the end of the street: a perfect place for tea and pastries, which would be enough to keep you sated for the walk back.

“Going shopping is so much more enjoyable without the thought of homework in the back of my mind!” Hilda remarks. Following midterms, the professors wouldn’t be handing out any new assignments until Monday, which meant as far as anyone else in the academy is concerned, this weekend is as free as free can be.

“I feel kind of strange knowing there’s nothing to work on,” you state. “But I’m not complaining.”

The two of you are approaching a flower display set up in front of a shop, and you slow down to glance at the pots and bouquets. Hilda slows her pace to match yours, and she grins. “Ah, finally it isn’t just me who’s wanting to pull you into shops.”

You chuckle but don’t turn your attention away from the colorful arrangements. It’s only when you look through the opened door do you turn around to look at her. “I know we were going to get food, but…”

Hilda waves a hand. “Go for it. But I’ll just stay out here, since, well…” She holds up the armful of clothes and accessories she has. “I’d hate to accidentally knock anything over.”

You tell her it’ll only be a few minutes, then step inside the flower shop. There’s a skylight built in to the ceiling, the last few hours of sunlight today flooding in past the glass. Your boots thump quietly along the wooden floors, though occasionally you step over a squeaky board. It is the series of quiet squeaks that captures the attention of the florist, an older woman whose back had been turned to you until now.

Her smile is polite, and when she asks if there’s a specific flower you’re looking for, you contemplate for a moment whether you should tell her or just proceed to browse in search of it yourself. After all, you don’t mind combing through the aisles, if only to take in the pretty selection. But since she offered her assistance, you figure you might as well. Before you can change your mind, you say _Yeah, actually_ and ask if there are any peonies.

She shakes her head regretfully and apologizes. “I’m afraid I’ve sold out of peonies.”

You’re disappointed but smile anyway, appreciative of her help. “Oh, well… maybe next time.”

You can’t say you’re surprised there are no more available. Peonies have been especially popular recently, with the coming spring. Since the ones you’re growing are still young, there are no blooms to be witnessed currently, and you would have liked to buy some to enjoy. It seems as though you were too slow to get a bouquet on today’s visit, but you could hardly be blamed, given you were basically cooped up in your room during free periods and the weekends this past moon to study.

You envision the bouquet in a glass vase, sitting next to the pot of young peonies on the window sill. Then invariably your thoughts shift and you envision handing them instead to Claude, a sudden shyness overcoming you being despite the fact you have been good friends for a long while, but with the implication of your actions, you can’t help it. And you’d like to hide your face behind the pink bunches, too embarrassed to meet his gaze, and your cheeks would burn, jut like they do now.

If you had been able to buy the bouquet, which would it have been? Would you have kept it to yourself, or would you have finally done it, admitted to Claude how much he means to you, a sentiment beyond mere friends? You’re still hesitant that the feelings could be mutual, and are adamant in telling yourself that to risk it would be far from a good idea. So you surmise that if there had, in fact, been peonies available, then that would’ve meant something, a strong enough sign from the universe of what you should do. The flowers in your hands would be the push you needed because Ludwig’s words play in your head again and peonies are pretty sitting in front of a window but they’d look even better in the hands of the one you love most.

You huff out a heavy sigh. And perhaps the opposite is a sign too. At best, a sign to wait; at worst, a sign that it isn’t meant to be. And the latter hurts to consider. Even for all your aversion to risking your friendship with Claude, a tiny part of you holds onto the hope that so long as you don’t acknowledge your feelings, so long as you keep them a secret, there remains the possibility for him to love you back. Those _what-if_ ’s have kept you satisfied up until now, but would they always?

Maybe the lack of peonies today are the universe telling you that it’s your choice to make. To reason that your profession of love to Claude depended on whether there were peonies in the shop today, was to discount the magnitude of your feelings. If they’re as strong as you believe them to be (and you believe them to be _very_ strong), they will be that final nudge. The universe removes her hands from this one.

Hilda frowns when you emerge from the store empty handed. “No flowers?”

“Nothing caught my eye,” you explain, not going into anymore detail than that. Your stomach grumbles again, a well-timed reminder of your original goal, and the perfect excuse to change the subject. “Now come on, let’s get food!”

Maybe on the day the peonies in your room finally bloom, you’ll have the courage to confess.

———

When you’re back at the monastery and in the dining hall for dinner, you don’t see Claude anywhere. It’s an observation you make but doesn’t warrant your concern nor suspicion. You hadn’t arrived right when the cooks began serving the food, and by now other students and faculty are finished or are almost finished with their meals, and have left to continue with the rest of their evening. The table you’re sitting at with your fellow Golden Deer steadily empties until it’s just you and Raphael. He tells you he spent his afternoon training, and when you commend his dedication, he gives you a toothy grin and playfully flexes one of his arms.

“Have to keep my muscles big and strong! That’s why I gotta eat so much too, like right now!”

Even he’s lost track of how many times he’s gone back to get more food. _Seconds, thirds, fourths… If no one else is eating it, then I will!_ You can’t help but laugh. His passion for food (more so to eat than to make) is unparalleled, and it leaves little to go to waste. The dining hall is growing quieter as people depart, and there’s still some food left being attended to by the cook, which you know Raphael will be going back for. With slight amusement you wonder if they make extra just for him.

Eventually you too take your leave, wishing Raphael a good night as you stand. The breeze is cool and you shiver, for you don’t have a jacket. You’d come straight to the dining hall when you got back. You hasten your walk to the dormitory, and with every step closer, the thought of sleep begins to excite you. It technically isn’t very late yet, but the stress of the last few weeks have caught up to you, and you’re ready to plop into bed and sleep for days. Besides, there’s sure to be other students who have already fallen asleep, like Claude, according to what he’d mentioned this afternoon, so you’re no outlier.

Or, it seems, _not_ like Claude, because you see him in the hallway.

Your brow raises in confusion and you don’t have to say anything for him to know why you’re looking at him so surprised. He laughs and falls in step with you as you continue on to your room.

“I took a nap earlier and was a little more energized,” he begins, “so I’ve been chatting, hanging out, getting things done.” He shrugs matter-of-factly.

“What things need getting done?” you inquire curiously. “Not anything class-related, that’s for sure.”

“No, nothing about our classes.”

He doesn’t expand more than that, and you look up at him, expecting him to speak again, but he keeps quiet. You’ve arrived at your room now, and your hand curls around the doorknob. You take a second to open the door, opening it wide as a signal for Claude to come in if he wants.

“Then what’s—” Your question is cut short once you step into the room. In shocked silence, you observe the scene before you.

Bunches of peonies adorn every available surface: on your desk, atop your dresser, scattered over your bed and even covering the uniform you’d folded and left on top of it when you changed after class. The window sill where you keep your own pot of peonies is almost hidden beneath how many of the pink flower have been placed there. More are tucked among the books and knick knacks you have on the high shelves mounted on the wall. If you had any words, they’ve left upon the breath you let out, a sigh of disbelief and wonder. It’s beautiful.

You twist around, and the soft smile on Claude’s face from where he stands by the door is an instant giveaway. You want to ask him what this is about, but you can’t find it in you to speak. Thankfully, he understands fine, and answers without needing to be questioned aloud.

“Since you couldn’t go home, being at the academy to study and all, I figured I could bring home to you.”

Your lips lift at the corners in a grateful smile, though it’s shaky because you might cry. The thoughtfulness makes your chest squeeze painfully, that Claude would do this for you. You hadn’t paid any special mind to your comment about peonies and your attachment to them, but Claude had. It had stuck with him, and not only that, it had spurred him into action. Your room is filled to the brim with peonies and you’re certain you’ll see them behind closed eyelids as you sleep.

“Thank you, Claude.” You hope he can detect your gratitude, the heartfelt sincerity. You mean it with your entire being because never in a million years did you think anyone would go to such lengths for you. His smiles grows then, and you know that he had picked up on it. “But how—”

“—did I get all these flowers?” he completes the query for you. “Yeah, about that, I asked around from the merchants if anyone was bringing in shipments of peonies, and when I found someone, I bought the whole supply.” He chuckles and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

 _That_ must be why the florist from this afternoon had no peonies available. You’re familiar with Claude’s talents, and have been privy to his fair share of schemes, but evidently, he’s so good that he’d managed this one right under your nose. Suddenly you want to ask _why_. Why had he done this? Multiple crates of peonies couldn’t be cheap, and though money is no issue for a noble like Claude, it’s still a lot to spend on one person. Did he truly value your friendship that much, that he hardly blinked at the prospect of doing something like this?

As if he could hear your thoughts, he speaks up again. “I did this to help you feel less homesick, but… there was more to it too.”

You tilt your head but keep quiet so he can continue.

“I like being the reason for your smiles,” he admits. “I want you to be happy. And when the opportunity to do this”—he motions to the room and the peonies—“fell into my lap, and I knew it’d make you smile, I couldn’t pass it by. I didn’t think twice. I mean… how _could_ I?”

It’s silent for several moments as you process what he has said, and the implication behind his words. He did this because it made you happy. He did this because he does value your friendship but what’s more, he values _you_. What he shared mirrors your own sentiments, gives voice to the warmth you feel whenever you see him smile and how that’s all you want to dream of and when he smiles because of you, you always feel like the two of you could be something more.

By now it is impossible to deny that Claude is baring his heart to you in a way you never had the courage to. And he watches you the way you imagined you’d watch him, waiting nervously, with bated breath for the response, clinging to the hope that the yearning and the pining and the _love_ , that it’s all mutual.

You swallow the lump in your throat, and your voice is barely above a whisper because if you were to speak any louder, your voice might crack. “So what are you saying?” This feels as if it’s not real, is just in your head, and you’re too nervous to come to any conclusions on your own lest you somehow take everything completely the wrong way. Even now, you’re second guessing yourself, wondering if you can finally acknowledge and confess your own feelings. But you have to know for sure.

“What I’m saying is…” Claude takes the few strides to close the distance between you, and when he’s standing before you, he carefully lifts a hand to rest on your face. He visibly relaxes when you don’t shy away from his touch. “You mean the world to me. You make me feel like I can move mountains, and I never want to let you go.”

You’re overcome with happiness at his words— _he feels the same!_ —and you can’t contain your smile. His eyes light up when he sees it. “There it is.”

The remark only serves you to make you smile wider as you laugh shyly. The skin of his palm is warm against the coolness of your cheek, and you lean into his hand. You notice his gaze drop from your own, flickering to your lips, and then he’s closing what small distance remains, and his lips are soft, _so soft_ , and you could stay here forever. This isn’t quite your garden of peonies and the gazebo with a table for two, but whether you were at the monastery or back home, whether you were in a gazebo or in your dorm room, you’re still surrounded by peonies, and most importantly, Claude is with you. That’s all that matters.

Your thoughts drift to the letter in the top drawer of your desk, and you only hold him tighter.


End file.
